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Amilia Malinda

Feb. 17, 2006
I was writing in my journal the thoughts that have crossed my mind today and I thought that they have much in common with this poem:

Maybe to get through life one needs a sort of detachment from it. In history class I cried while watching the Pianist when I saw a little boy beaten to death. I looked around at everyone subconsciously and they were not crying, so I judged them. Were they so detached from it that they could not feel... or simply was it because the new it was only a movie.
The thought had crossed my mind; maybe America has trained us to be detached. My mother, on the subject, brought up T. V. and video games. Are we so used to seeing violence that it all becomes a movie of sorts; drops into the realm of fiction? Has reality been twisted into the various games we pay?
Then it comes up that maybe this is good. Reality, the world; blood shed and horrors accurse. To hide them and shield the truth from our children, does that not affect their capability to cope? I feel as though we should find a way to bring to the people the reality of the world without manufacturing this horrid detachment.
I don't know what any of this means to you, but I find your poem most inspiring and it has much meaning to me.

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